


Vows

by Sinfel (Felrott)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Celibacy, Chastity Device, Cock & Ball Torture, Figging, Incest, M/M, Masochism, Oaths & Vows, Orgasm Denial, Painplay, Parent/Child Incest, Prostate Milking, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felrott/pseuds/Sinfel
Summary: Since his father’s return, Arator has struggled to uphold his vows of chastity, and to find the strength in his own denial.Fitting then, that his father is the one to help him.-----It's incest lads, in case you didn't read the tags ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: Turalyon/Arator the Redeemer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Vows

**Author's Note:**

> Your mate ever mention a crack ship and then you go onto a 2 hour bender and bash out 3k words because apprently it's the only way to exorcise the demons? :))  
> \----  
> CW: incest, painplay, cbt, probs not safe or sane but deffo consensual, got that undercurrent of ‘suffering for god is good, actually’ shit. Cock cages, figging, orgasm denial, milking, long-term chastity
> 
> I accidentally made a light-powered dildo I’m cringing too dw  
> \----  
> I dunno if this even makes sense without the set up of a franticly screamed discord discussion, but just suspend every single ounce of possible disbelief, pls don't think about like, how it would work in actual canon, just don't, just take the most self indulgent smut I've ever written and go and leave me here to stare at my hands like they betrayed me

The small room was dim, with only a single, tiny window for air, and just candles for light to see by. It was a room for meditation, contemplation, and holy punishment.

Arator bent low over the altar, hands clasped before him, head resting in the cradle of his arms as he mouthed his prayers to the Light. He begged for forgiveness and strength, for the Light to continue to grant him his blessing and power. And also, quietly, he begged for the willpower to keep his vows, to remain virtuous and stalwart in his chastity.

The Light warmed him, as always, but the need didn’t leave as it usually would. Prayers and meditation were no longer enough to control himself. He mouthed the words again, and again, clasped his hands until his fingers were white, and focused on the control, instead of the constant ache between his legs, and the throbbing of his cock where it was bound in its little cage.

His ass clenched, empty and needy, but he had the will at least to keep his hands in front of him, instead of burying them inside himself as he so desperately wanted to do. His warden would be here soon enough, and it was up to their judgement for how best Arator could settle himself, and until then, he just had to stay there, half-naked and prostate before the Light, and ask for its blessing.

But thinking of his warden didn’t help, and all too quickly he lost control of his desires again, his cock throbbing and trying to harden in its cage. He could feel his balls swelling further as his body reacted without his consent, and he muffed a frustrated sob into his arms. This was why he was here in the first place; he’d once been a beacon of purity, a role model so many of their order looked to, but when his father had returned, had stepped through that portal, it had all shattered.

Years spent chaste, gone in an instant at the sight of his _father_ , his scarred face that was so, so different to his memories. His broad shoulders and strong hands... Arator had joined the order to feel closer to his father, had made his vows to honour his memory, and now… Now mere thoughts of him brought ruin and lust, where they had once brought peace. 

That the cause of his fall was the one he had pledged his life to, was a cruel irony. And then, he supposed, only crueler that he’d been judged wanting, and the solution…

 _‘You must train your body from the beginning, a fall this far…’_ His Commander had said, so clearly worried for Arator that it was in every line of his face and body. He hadn’t even dared to touch him on the shoulder, so close was Arator to the edge of breaking, but his solution was both heaven sent, and a curse. _‘If Turalyon is the cause of this, then he must be the one to offer you redemption.’_

 _‘My father…_ ’ he’d whispered, ashamed and so full of self-hatred that he couldn’t stop it from showing on his face. His leader had risked a touch then, a careful pet to the head. Arator had struggled not to lean into it.

_‘We are all brethren under the Light. Think no more on it. I will contact him…’_

And he had. And Arator had waited, ashamed and desperate for his father’s attention and judgement, and though Turalyon had seemed disturbed, he took his duty to heart. Arator knew no one else would guide him as well as he could, as the man who’d known him from his entire beginning.

They’d started again, like he was a novice who’d only just stuttered through his vows. Turalyon’s hands had shaken as he’d unlocked the gilded cage from Arator’s cock, freeing it for the first time in years, and Arator remembered how he’d whimpered at the unwelcome sensation. It felt wrong to lose it; his cage had been beautiful and comfortable, a sign of his rank and devotion, and a comfort he no longer deserved. Instead, Turalyon had cupped him gently, and eased him back into a novice cage— the cage he still wore now— until they could both be certain of his willpower again.

It was uncomfortable, designed to distract, to force attention so that the novice could overcome it. It was a little too small, a little too tight around the base of his balls, so that any pleasure he might have felt would only result in discomfort and, if he couldn’t control himself, pain. Arator hadn’t been able to control himself since his father returned. The comfortable weight of his gilded cage seemed like a distant dream away.

The worst part though, he thought, was that to truly retrain, Turalyon had decided he’d need to desensitise himself again. The tight ring of the novice cage sat snugly under the head of his cock, holding his foreskin back, and he hated how the head sat proud, an ugly red lump instead of the clean lines of his old cage, which had held him completely.

And he loathed the novice underwear Turalyon had found for him; no longer a soft cotton or even silk, the hessian chafed his ass badly enough as it was, but against his swollen balls, and the jutting head of his cock, it rubbed raw enough to _hurt_ . He was allowed to heal it of course, but the constant scratch and pain, especially while sparring or on horseback, was an annoyance, and one he resented himself for having to overcome _again_.

At least for now, bent over the altar as he was, his long skirt flipped up, with his naked ass exposed as he waited for his father, he didn’t have to suffer the chafe of the underwear, though the hated thing waited at his feet. But the anticipation didn’t help, and his cock only jerked in its awful little cage. He tried not to rut against the edge of the altar as he started his prayers again.

He was halfway through a round of prayers when the door opened. Ambient noises from the busy cathedral erupted into the small room, hushing as soon as Turalyon closed the heavy door once more.

Arator twisted to look over his shoulder; as always his father was beautiful, radiating the Light in a way like no other and, for once, his face wasn’t pulled into a worried frown. He’d begun to find solace in their almost daily sessions, and had confessed to Arator he’d started to find them relaxing, helping to bolster his own dedication and will.

Though the soft smile turned to a frown when Turalyon looked down at Arator’s ass, and between his spread legs, to where Arator knew his balls hung, swollen and aching.

“It’s not even been three days, and you need draining already?” The disappointment shot through Arator’s gut, a sickening sensation, and he buried face back in his arms. He tried to close his legs, to hide his shame, but warm, leather-clad hands stopped him, and simply spread him wider, baring him for judgement. The press of Turalyon’s thumb against his rim had Arator exhaling shakily, and he couldn’t stop his body from pushing back into it, letting it just slip inside. It was not enough to scratch the itch of his desire, but already a step too far.

He was given to his father for a reason, and Turalyon didn’t let the betrayal of Arator’s body go unpunished; he pulled at Arator’s rim with his thumb, spread him wide enough that Arator squirmed and hissed. Before he could let any pleasure from it trickle through, an unforgiving hand cupped his heavy balls. There was no warning, but Arator knew to expect it when the soft grip twisted to a hard pull and squeeze in an instant. Even expectant, Arator couldn’t hope to stop the strangled noise from his throat, nor his leg kicking out, plated boots thudding against the marble altar as he lashed out. 

Turalyon didn’t relent, just held him tightly, kept him spread and stood patiently until Arator slumped, forced his legs and breathing back under his control. He was so thankful, so truly blessed that his father was willing to have such patience with him, and knew exactly what he needed to calm himself. A steady presence, a bastion of strength to lean against, someone to stop the pleasure when Arator clearly couldn’t control it himself.

“T-thank you, father.” His voice was breathy, and still shook with the pain, but he rolled his hips into Turalyon’s hands, grit his teeth as it deepened the ache, and let it wash over him. His hands were clasped tightly before his head, and deep down he knew his prayers were no longer to the Light, but to the man behind him, for _his_ guidance and mercy. For _his_ judgement and forgiveness.

“Arator…” Turalyon sounded weary, and Arator hated that he must have been the cause. “We’ll keep trying for another week, but if this keeps up, I’m afraid it’ll be the rods. Maybe the punishment cage, I’m not sure…”

Arator’s breath caught. He’d never been subjected to them before— the special tools that would be pushed into his cock, a last ditch effort to stop him from breaking his vows, by stopping him from coming right at the source. Arator knew of only two others who’d needed that level of disciplining, both older men who’d simply lost control of their bodies, through no real fault of their own but age. It didn’t help stop the flush of humiliation; to be plugged up like that, it was truly a sign of his weakness, but more than that it was limiting, and he’d need to find Turalyon every time he needed to piss. No matter how the thought of giving up control of _that_ to his father made something in him yearn and ache, he knew he’d hate the lack of freedom, and being unable to venture out of missions alone, or at least away from him.

And the punishment cage… was an awful thing; far too small, and lined with tiny blunt spikes, it was designed for short term use, but Arator would probably be stuck in it for weeks if he couldn’t control himself. He closed his eyes and mouthed his prayers, and tried to get himself under control, even as his father felt around his ass, tugging on his balls when it risked feeling too pleasurable.

“Well, let’s empty you out first, and then we’ll see about numbing that libido of yours.”

Turalyon stepped away with a gentle pat to Arator’s hip, and his ass felt instantly too cold without the heat of his father’s body so close to him. He couldn’t stop from shifting his hips, wanting those warm hands back on him, no matter what pain they brought.

Turalyon didn’t waste time though, and came back with a cold metal rod. He brought his hands back up to cup and hold the weight of Arator’s aching balls. The cold steel of the rod always made Arator shiver and whine, even if he knew he needed it, but Turalyon hushed him through it as always, bending to press a soft kiss to his ear before he eased it in.

His ass was well stretched, and the smooth rod didn’t need any lubricant; for one, it was better that it hurt, but Turalyon seemed to hope that if they kept him stretched and gaping, if he couldn’t feel any pleasure from Turalyon’s hands or any of his punishment rods or plugs, it might help to control his urges.

It was a different method to the one Arator had first used to train himself; many amongst them sought to bring themselves pleasure, and found their strength in denying themselves at the highest point, as close to release and breaking their vows and they dared to take themselves. Turalyon, upon looking at his miserable, broken son, had decided on another path; if he couldn’t feel pleasure in the first place, if it was always tainted by so much pain as to make it undesirable, then they could train his body to hate it, and thus, hopefully, to stop it before it even begun.

Arator wasn’t sure it was working yet, but he was desperate to try anything, and submitted to his father’s wisdom willingly.

Turalyon kissed his ear again before he drew back, in a better position to angle the rod and keep his balls squeezed in hand. He knew exactly where Arator’s sensitive spot was, and wasted no time in jamming the tool against it, forcing a gasp from his son and a twitch from his cock. A jab, and another, and it hurt enough he wanted to kick out, but he kept himself still, and muffled his yells into his arms, knowing the worst was to come anyway.

And it did; the cool metal heated up, warming slowly as Turalyon pushed his Light into it, until it almost burned, held expertly in the confines of the rod. With nowhere for the energy to go, the rod almost seemed to vibrate, and between that and the painful heat, and the incessant rubbing against his prostate, Arator knew it wouldn’t be long before he— 

The building pain didn’t stop, but something inside him broke, and he felt his cock twitch as it began to leak, milky fluid that dribbled and stained the inside of his skirt.

“Good boy, that’s good…” Turalyon murmured, pushing the rod harder and forcing more Light to it, until Arator’s prostate was a burning point of sensation. He couldn’t stop clenching down to try and get it out, no matter how it burned and vibrated through him. The stream didn’t stop, but it also didn’t stop hurting; the pressure was lifting, and Turalyon kept squeezing his balls, as if that would help empty them, but the need to cum didn’t disappear. Arator knew only time and mediation would help with that impulse, but it was hard to remember, when he felt like he was coming undone at the seams under his father’s hands.

Turalyon kept up the pressure, until Arator felt exhausted and wrung out, and slumped uselessly over the altar, but the rod kept pounding him. With a final squeeze, his father dragged his hand from his balls to his cock, and roughly rubbed the protruding head, checking for any last remnants to come, but Arator was twitching and dry, and with a satisfied hum, Turalyon gently pat his sore little cock, and eased the rod out of his ass.

Arator wanted to collapse, but Turalyon’s hands kept a hold of his hips and kept him standing.

“I don’t know what thoughts you get into your head to make you fill so quickly but, son…” Turalyon sighed, and bent again to rest over him, lying along his back as he kissed at the nape of his neck, mindless of the sweat that Arator knew had to be sticking his hair to his skin. “Stay still.” He pulled away, and Arator raised his head enough to glimpse him unwrapping a bundle of— oh, of course. His ass clenched and he screwed his eyes shut. He needed it, he knew it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

A fat length of peeled bruiseweed root. The cool press of it against his rim didn’t hurt like so many punishments he’d taken, but as it sunk in, the stinging started to radiate around his rim, and then along his entire channel as it slowly filled him. It was a fat bulb, and his father had carved a notch in the circumference to help keep it lodged in, but Arator still couldn’t help but clench on it, wanting it out already. The clenching only made it worse, and soon the sting turned into a throbbing pain, a burning fire in him that was so similar, and yet so unlike the Light in the rod. He couldn’t help but twitch and push, try to force it out, but Turalyon’s fingers kept it in place, and his other hand pet his hair and hushed him, until he managed to find his control again, despite the tears he knew that ran down his cheeks.

At least Turalyon trusted him enough not to lock it in with a belt or length of rope, but Arator almost wished he would, if just to take away the temptation to pull it out himself. But, he’d never learn control if he wasn’t tested, and truly he was thankful, even if he hated every second.

Warm hands pet his ass, and because his father knew what he needed best, reached under to cup and squeeze his balls, and to grind his palm into the exposed head of his cock, rubbing the oils and juices of the brusieweed in, and setting his lower region on fire. He felt the tears well again in his eyes, but forced himself still, until Turalyon was happy with his work. Arator knew he’d be in pain for hours.

“ _Thank you_ …” He didn’t know what else to say, nothing that could explain the depth of his gratitude, and love, and devotion to his father, this man who’d taken him when he was so broken and sought to help him atone.

He felt the warmth behind him move, as Turalyon bent to pull Arator’s awful underwear up, helped him lift his legs back into it, and dragged it up to cover him once more. It was tight over his ass, and the head of his cock strained against the material, the scratch of it another layer to the torture with the burning oils, and Arator choked back fresh tears and tried to get himself under control. Turalyon tugged and tied the waist ribbon tight, pet once again over the sore head of his cock, and ground down, pulling a noise from Arator as it burned in a holy agony. His father was generous and loving though, and the relief when he pulled his hand back felt helped him adjust his concentration. 

Satisfied with everything, and offering a final press against the bruiseweed plug, Turalyon pulled Arator’s skirt back down and settled it into place, helping to pull his son back up, cradled against his chest. He hugged him from behind, and pressed a kiss to his ear and cheek.

“I’m so proud of you, my son, know that, whatever choices you make.” He whispered in his ear, and Arator nodded. But he wanted to make him prouder, to keep his vows and prove this to himself. He kept his hands above his waist, held onto Turalyon’s arms until the painful burn in his ass settled enough he might be able to walk. He turned in his father’s arms, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you.” For salvation, for love, for coming back to him.

“I would give you anything,” Turalyon kissed him back, and brushed Arator’s cheek, where a tear had left tracks. “Come to my room tonight, and I’ll remove the root. Though for now…”

“I’m expected in the sparring ring, I know.” Arator kissed him again as he pulled away, schooling his face to calm as his cock brushed against the coarse texture of his underwear. “The Light blessed me with you, father. Take care.”

“And you.”

Turalyon opened the door, letting Arator leave first. The bustle of the Cathedral hit him like a wall, loud and almost overwhelming after the quiet of the room behind them. He squared his shoulders, and walked with the confidence he was known for to the ring, pushing the agony between his legs to the back of his mind. The Light bloomed within him, and he felt redeemed.

**Author's Note:**

> *dabs out*


End file.
